


Cut and Run

by prozacplease



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Bromance, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1588505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozacplease/pseuds/prozacplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't find Bucky. Bucky finds Steve. Bucky's hurt pretty badly and Steve fears HYDRA is on their trail. They need to get out of Washington. Fast. Takes place a year after the events in The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cut

_Well, I see you standing there like a rabid dog_  
_And you got those crying eyes_  
_Makes me wanna surrender and wrap you in my arms_

— Foster the People, “Coming of Age”

 

Steve listened to the early morning news as he was getting ready for his run. The forecast was calling for rain, maybe even a passing thunderstorm. He was determined to go regardless of the weather, but mainly because he knew Sam would give him shit if he didn’t see him.

He was still staying in his apartment in Washington, D.C. Even though SHIELD was no more, Steve was still technically government property. And besides, HYDRA had yet to come after him. He saw no point in running away if he wasn’t being chased.

Steve sat down on the couch and tied his running shoes. He was tired. Sleep had evaded him for most of the night, and when he did actually sleep he dreamed about Bucky. The nightmare was a recurring one, and by far the most distressing. Bucky’s arm just out of reach. Bucky’s round, fearful eyes as the twisted metal of the ruined train car gave way and he tumbled backwards into empty space. Snowflakes stinging Steve’s face as he screamed, the cry more of an anguished howl in his own ears.

For nearly a year, Steve and Sam had searched for Bucky, as far as Russia and everywhere in between. They’d had no luck, even with Natasha using her many talents when they traveled overseas. It was like Bucky vanished after dragging Steve out of the Potomac. Maybe he really had.

There were moments when Steve doubted that any of what happened was real, despite the massive KGB file that Natasha had given him. He had already spent so much time thinking Bucky was dead. He had grieved. He had accepted it. It was hard to reverse all those revelations and believe that not only was Bucky alive, he was not the same person he used to be.

All of this weighed heavily on Steve as he ran past the White House, heading toward the National Mall. Despite the gloom, the cherry blossoms were beautiful. Steve could hear sprinkles starting to hit the swishing material of his windbreaker as he bounded down the path. Ahead, he saw a person dressed in running shorts and a sweatshirt. It was Sam.

Rather than huffing his usual quip and continuing on until he lapped his friend, Steve slowed his pace.

“Morning,” Sam panted, wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.

“Hey,” Steve said in reply.

He thought to start a conversation, but realized that Sam was practically breathless. So they continued on in silence. It started to rain heavily and they ducked into the Lincoln Memorial when they came upon it.

“How come you weren’t lapping me this morning?” Sam asked, leaning against one of the stone columns.

Steve was looking at President Lincoln sitting on his giant chair. “Didn’t sleep so well last night,” he said.

Sam just nodded. The distracted look on Steve’s face was one he recognized, and it prevented him from joking any further. He knew what it was like to lose a best friend. “Are you still planning on coming to the VA today?” he asked. “Everybody loves it when you come help.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there this afternoon,” Steve said, still looking at the statue.

They stood around for nearly five minutes before deciding that the rain wasn’t going to let up. It was coming down in great sheets that made it hard to see the reflecting pool across from the memorial. Sam went to go hail a cab and Steve took off in the direction he came from. He didn’t mind the rain.

Steve arrived back at his apartment completely soaked. He was imagining how nice a hot shower and some coffee was going to be as he got his keys out to open the door. He closed the door behind him, locked it, and then stopped short. He could smell rain like he was still outside, and there was a damp breeze in the apartment that shouldn’t have been there.

He heard a low rumble of thunder, the sound of rain hitting the window panes. At the end of the hallway, he could see the bedroom window was open all the way, the screen removed and propped up against the wall. Rain was being blown in by the chilly spring wind.

More concerning were the few droplets of blood on the hardwood by the bathroom door.

“Who’s there?” Steve asked, heart beating a little harder than he would have liked it to.

Whoever it was, they were hurt and probably not going to put up a fight. There was no answer as he started to walk through the apartment, flicking on lights.

He heard it before he saw it, a soft _plip plip_ that was not part of the sounds of falling rain. A tall, muscular man was standing in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, and he was bleeding. Steve’s eyes went wide when he recognized who it was.

“Bucky?” he asked.

Bucky didn’t reply. Pieces of wet hair were sticking to his pale face, which was twisted up in a grimace. He was hunched over a little and had both arms folded tightly around his middle.

Steve could now see the blood that was dripping off Bucky’s metal arm and hitting the floor. There was already a little red pool around his black combat boots. Bucky shrunk back as Steve sprang into a flurry of panicked action, running over to a drawer and pulling out an armful of kitchen towels. They were a gift from Pepper when he first moved into this apartment and he hadn’t even used most of them.

Bucky threw his metal arm out and it grasped the edge of the island countertop with a hydraulic whine. He was breathing hard. Deep, chest-heaving breaths through his mouth. By the time Steve came over with the towels, Bucky was on his knees.

“What happened to you?” Steve asked as he knelt in front of Bucky and grabbed his wrist to pull his arm away from the wound. “Here.”

Bucky jerked away so violently that he smacked into the island, groaning from the pain that the sudden movement caused. From his new slumped position, he lifted up his forearm a little to reveal a deep gash under his ribcage.

Steve saw it for only a few seconds before he was pressing a towel against it. Bucky cried out, knocking the back of his head against a cabinet door. He squirmed and gritted his teeth against the painful compression.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. He maintained a steady pressure with one hand and picked up a new towel with the other. “I’m so sorry.”

The second towel was nearly soaked completely through. A queasy peal of dread snaked through Steve’s belly as he continued to press. He was afraid Bucky was bleeding to death. He discarded the second towel and went for a third one.

“Can you press on it yourself?” Steve asked, folding Bucky’s bloody hands over the fresh towel. “As hard as you can. Just for a minute. I have to get something.”

Bucky nodded and whimpered at the discomfort he was now causing himself. He drew one of his legs up and then slid it straight out again. He was breathing in short, sharp gasps.

Steve ran from the kitchen to his bedroom, where there was a SHIELD medical kit under his bed. It was the only item Steve had taken when SHIELD dissolved the year before. Fury let Natasha, Maria, and Steve have whatever abandoned government property that was not already snapped up by the feds.

Steve’s hands smeared blood on the dark blue hard case of the kit as he dragged it out from underneath his bed. It was about the size of a large suitcase, but much heavier. He didn’t even know exactly what was in there, but he remembered Fury telling him that it was a good thing to have.

He threw the case down next to Bucky and got on his knees again. He flipped the large latches upward with his thumbs and lifted the case open.

Steve was about to tell Bucky to hang on when they were both startled by a female voice. The case had a small digital screen that was showing the SHIELD seal.

“You have activated the SHIELD emergency medical kit,” the female voice said. “What is the nature of the injury?”

Steve’s eyes bounced from the talking case to Bucky. The third towel was stained red and the fabric was wet from oversaturation.

“Uncontrollable bleeding,” Steve yelled at the machine.

“Apply coagulation spray directly to the source of the bleeding. Spray until bleeding stops,” the female voice instructed as if there was no emergency.

Steve peered into the case, where there seemed to be hundreds of items that all looked the same to him. Packages of gauze, bundles of hemostats, even a small defibrillator were tucked into the kit. Finally he saw it. A blue canister clearly labeled “coagulation spray.”

Steve turned to Bucky and, with both hands, yanked open the heavy leather jacket that he wore. The buttons and zippers gave easily under Steve’s frantic grasp. Without Bucky’s hands covering the wound, the blood was flowing freely again. It was a bigger slice than Steve originally thought, extending across nearly the entire width of Bucky’s abdomen.

The canister was not unlike an aerosol spray can, which was something Steve had at least used before. He pressed the actuator down and started to spray a thick coating of the clear fluid onto the gash.

Bucky screamed aloud, drawing his arms up to his chest. Steve didn’t stop applying the coagulation spray despite the obvious pain it was causing. Bucky twisted his legs and arched his back in an effort to keep himself from drawing away.

Blood was still leaking out of the wound after one pass so Steve kept spraying, this time in the other direction. Bucky cried out again, a protracted yowl that rose and fell before breaking off into a sob. Steve reached over and grabbed one of Bucky’s clenched fists as he continued to spray. Bucky didn’t loosen his balled up hand so Steve could properly hold it.

The bleeding was slowed to a lazy drool that seemed to be stopping. Steve set the canister down, oblivious to his cramped up hand.

“Some stinging is normal when applying the spray,” the female voice said, as if the case was aware of all that had just transpired. “Would you like me to call for help?”

“No,” Steve said loudly, although he _was_ thinking of who he should call.

He searched the kit for anything else that might help Bucky. He was clueless.

“Is there anything I can assist you with?” the female voice asked pleasantly.

“Pain medication,” Steve barked at it.

“Select an autoinjector with a green cap. It needs to be administered to a large muscle for maximum effectiveness,” the voice said.

Nestled behind the defibrillator was a plastic box marked “autoinjectors.” Inside was a series of devices made of white plastic. One end of each autoinjector was covered by a different colored cap. They were all labeled with long words that Steve could read but didn’t understand.

There was a stubby large bore needle under the cap. Steve jabbed the autoinjector into Bucky’s thigh directly through the fabric of his black fatigues. Bucky yelped sharply, obviously not expecting such a vicious poke.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky said nothing in response. He was still breathing hard, staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. He swallowed so thickly that Steve could hear his throat click as the spit went down.

“Bucky?” Steve tried again.

Their eyes met. Bucky licked his lips as if he was preparing to speak, however, he didn’t. Steve thought that he looked like he wanted to talk but couldn’t make himself do it.

Steve sat back on the floor, glancing down at the dried blood that was already flaking off his hands. He really wanted to call Sam, but he feared Bucky’s reaction. What if he got spooked and tried to escape? Steve couldn’t imagine him getting far in the state he was in. He just worried about stressing Bucky out.

Steve pulled his cell phone out of one of the pockets in his running shorts. He’d gotten into the habit of actually carrying his phone with him wherever he went like most people did these days. Bucky didn’t stir when Steve put a hand on his shin, just letting him know he was there.

“Hello?” Sam answered.

“Hey, Sam. It’s Steve. Could you come over to my place?”

There was a pause. “I mean, I’m in between sessions right now… What’s going on?”

“He’s _here_ ,” Steve said, glancing over at Bucky to make sure he wasn’t going to make a break for it. “And he’s banged up pretty bad. I need some help.”

Sam started to ask what Steve meant, but stopped himself. “I’m on my way,” he said and hung up.

It took Sam about twenty minutes to arrive at the apartment. He came with his own red duffle bag of medical supplies, which he set down next to the SHIELD case.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked.

“Fury let me have it. It was left behind when the government raided the SHIELD offices last year,” Steve said. “It’s like a mini hospital. Talks you through first aid.”

“You sure it’s not talking to HYDRA right now?” Sam asked skeptically.

Steve felt a pang of anxiety. He hadn’t even thought of that. “I have no idea,” he said.

Sam gently kicked the case with the toe of his sneaker and it snapped closed. He came around the island to see Bucky still lying there on the floor and exhaled at the sight of all the stained towels, the blood on the floor, the blood on Bucky and Steve both.

“What even happened to him?” Sam asked.

“I haven’t gotten him to tell me anything yet,” Steve said, kneeling next to Bucky. “It’s a pretty nasty cut.”

Sam crouched down too. “I’ll say,” he said as he peered at the wound. “It was bleeding pretty bad, then?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a nod. He remembered the initial panic of trying to get the blood flow to stop. “The kit had a spray in it that stopped the bleeding.”

Sam was already unzipping his duffle bag and taking items out. “I suppose we can just clean it and sew it up. It’s been a while since I’ve done stitches, so the scar might not be very pretty.”

Steve scooted closer to Bucky’s head and tucked some of the unused kitchen towels under it. Bucky was conscious, but seemed more listless and unresponsive than he was before. If that was even possible. Steve worried that he’d given him too much pain medication, or that he was going into shock.

“Did you already give him a shot of something?” Sam asked as he prepared to dab antiseptic on the wound.

Steve nodded. “I think that’s why he’s so out of it.”

Sam glanced at Bucky cautiously before getting to work. “I think that’s probably a good thing,” he said.

Steve was thankful to have help from someone who knew a lot about medicine. He realized that, as a former pararescueman, Sam was as well-trained as an EMT. If not better.

Bucky gasped when the antiseptic came in contact with his broken skin, looking up at Steve with a confused look on his face. He lifted his head to see what Sam was doing but Steve eased him down.

“Just relax,” Steve said gently, keeping his hands on Bucky’s head.

He hoped that Bucky would turn his fractured attention away from what Sam was doing to him. Steve brushed damp pieces of hair out of Bucky’s eyes, felt the heat radiating from his sweaty face.

Sam was working quickly, eyebrows knitted up in concentration. The edges of the gash were pulling together with the help of Sam’s neat surgical stitches.

“There,” Sam said as he tied the last stitch off and trimmed it. “Guess I wasn’t out of practice as I thought.”

“Thank you for coming over,” Steve said.

“Not a problem,” Sam said pulling his rubber gloves off. “I’m guessing you’re not gonna come to the VA?”

Steve gave a shake of his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “But to be honest, I don’t what what I’m going to do.”

Sam stood up and crossed his arms loosely, looking down at Steve and Bucky still on the floor. He looked worried and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I don’t know either,” he said.

“He can stay here. I’m just worried about HYDRA,” Steve replied, glancing over at the case. He wished he’d never used it. “I mean, his injury is fresh and he couldn’t have traveled very far bleeding like he was. So that makes me think—”

“Maybe you should call Natasha. She’s good at disappearing,” Sam said.

“I’ll do that,” Steve replied. “You probably you have to get back to work.”

Sam looked at his watch. “Shit, yeah,” he said. “So you’re sure you’re gonna be okay alone with him?”

Steve glanced down at Bucky, who was blinking heavily like he was about to fall asleep. Right now it was hard to believe he was holding the Winter Soldier’s head in his lap, the one who had worked tirelessly to kill him, tried to beat him to death. Of course he couldn’t speak for how Bucky would act when he was fully recovered, but now he at least appeared cooperative.

“I think I can handle it,” Steve said.

“Well, if I don’t see you for a while, be careful out there, brother,” Sam said.

“Thanks for everything, Sam.”

Sam reached forward for a fist bump and Steve was thankful Tony had taught him that. Before he left, Sam made Steve promise he’d call him within the next day, even if he wasn’t in trouble.

Steve stayed on the floor with Bucky, continuing to gently smooth back his shaggy hair. He needed to get in contact with Natasha. He could do so through a secure network—whatever that was—that Tony had set up for the Avengers Initiative. But whether Natasha was in the United States or even “on the grid” was another problem.

“You gotta tell me what happened to you,” he said to Bucky. “We might be in trouble.”

“I think it was HYDRA,” Bucky said.

He spoke with a strange kind of difficulty that Steve didn’t think was due to his injury. Bucky’s voice was rough from disuse and he seemed confused by his own words.

“They were very well-trained,” Bucky continued.

Steve figured they would have to be to get the best of the Winter Soldier.

“Here in D.C.?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. “Before dawn this morning.”

Steve’s heart was pumping hard again. “Did they follow you?” he asked.

“They’re all dead.”

That statement did little to comfort Steve. _Cut off one head and two more take its place._ That was HYDRA’s whole deal, right? They’d had an entire year to regroup and scheme and keep tabs on people. It was entirely possible that they were moments away from kicking the door in or—

Bucky suddenly moving snapped Steve out of his internal worries. He was moving with purpose, trying to sit up and hurting himself in the process.

“Stop, stop,” Steve said.

He pressed down on Bucky’s shoulders in an effort to ease him back down. Despite his condition, Bucky was still surprisingly strong and making Steve’s task difficult.

“I need to go,” Bucky insisted weakly as he attempted to slip out of Steve’s grasp. However, he was trembling and clumsy.

“No, you need to lie still,” Steve said urgently. “Please. You’re really hurt. Let me take care of you.”

Bucky heaved himself up hard enough that Steve had to let go. He was busy folding his legs under his body so he could stand when he bent sharply at the waist. It was an accident and Steve could tell Bucky regretted it by the way he yelled in both pain and anger.

“You’re gonna bust those stitches if you don’t stop,” Steve said, placing his hands on Bucky again.

He could feel the anxiety-knotted muscles in Bucky’s shoulders and neck, the nervous vibrations from his metal arm. Steve patted his back as he finally relented and eased himself back down. He was panting again and a fresh sheen of sweat had jumped to the surface of his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said to the ceiling. “This isn’t right. This isn’t—”

Steve was both confused and worried. He put a hand on the side of Bucky’s face, fingertips brushing the scruff that roughened his jawline. Bucky turned toward the touch. He blinked furiously and squeezed his eyes shut. Whether he was fighting back tears or still in agony from disturbing his wound was unclear to Steve.

“Look, I’m just thrilled you’re not trying to kill me,” Steve said. “I can deal with all this other stuff just fine. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just please stay still for me.”

Bucky nodded and Steve pulled out his phone again, this time dialing for Natasha. Lord knew what the girl was up to. He was relieved when she picked up only after a few rings.

“Hey, super soldier,” she said in her usual kittenish voice.

“Hey, Nat,” Steve said, surprised at the smile that curved his mouth as he spoke. “You’re never going to believe this.”

“Did you find him?”

Steve looked down at Bucky, who was lying there listening. “He found me, actually. But he’s hurt pretty bad. Sam had to come over and sew him up and…” Steve’s voice trailed a bit as fresh anxiety gripped him. “HYDRA attacked him. In Washington. So I’m just worried that they’re on our trail and I want to make us scarce.”

“Well, I’m your girl,” Natasha said. “I’m actually in Chicago for the time being. Why don’t you come stay with me until we can get things figured out? I guess you could always call Tony, too.”

Steve inwardly balked at that suggestion. Stark Tower was undeniably safe and he knew he was always welcome, but he could already picture Tony taking an inappropriate interest in Bucky’s arm and wanting to take it apart for “science.” Not to mention all the thinly veiled gay jokes that made Pepper roll her eyes and—

“Are you sure it’s okay if we come to Chicago?” Steve asked.

“Oh, yeah. Taking your bike is probably a bad idea, though. How about you just get on a train? There’s an Amtrak line that runs daily from Washington to Chicago,” Natasha replied.

Steve was nodding to himself. “Great idea. It’s not the fastest way, but we’d never be able to get on a plane,” he said.

“I think you’ll be fine,” Natasha said. “Be careful, though. I’ll come pick you up from the station. You can text now, right?”

“Yes, I know how to text now,” Steve replied, feigning annoyance. “You taught me, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://www.iainkillsrobots.tumblr.com)
> 
> ♥ Comments are always appreciated. ♥


	2. Run

“We’ve gotta get going, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky’s glazed eyes followed Steve as he put his phone away and stood over him, trying to figure out how to get him into a standing position.

“Okay, I’m just gonna pull you up. All you have to do is get your legs under you,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded, lifting his arms up for Steve to grab onto. He was braced for more pain. Steve grasped Bucky’s arms near the elbow. Bucky gripped Steve’s forearms with surprising force in return.

“Ow, ow,” Bucky moaned. His boots squeaked on the floor as he tried to stand without hurting himself.

Steve winced. “Just go slow,” he said.

Just because Bucky was on his feet again did not mean he could stay that way unassisted. Steve slung Bucky’s arm across his shoulders and guided him down the hallway to his bedroom. There he helped Bucky sit down on the edge of his bed.

“We’re gonna take a train to Chicago,” Steve said, pulling a duffel bag out of the closet and tossing it on the bed next to Bucky. “I don’t think it’s safe here.”

Steve opened up his dresser and started to take his exercise clothes off, heedless of Bucky watching. They used to take baths together when they were little kids, for heaven’s sake. He dressed in nearly the same outfit he had worn when he and Natasha were on the run—the guise of an unassuming hipster.

“A disguise?” Bucky asked as Steve slipped on the fake plastic-rimmed glasses.

“Yep,” Steve said. “People tend to recognize me.”

He found a slouchy beanie and threw it to Bucky, who let it hit him in the chest. He also pulled out a long sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He gave Bucky his change of clothes and started stuffing things in the duffel bag.

“I don’t know how to put this on,” Bucky said, holding the beanie in his hands.

“I’ll help you. Just get dressed.”

Steve zipped his shield into its carrying case. He wished he had a suit to bring along, but his newest one had been lost in SHIELD’s liquidation and he returned the old one to the Smithsonian for restoration.

Bucky shrugged out of his ruined leather jacket and peeled off the shirt underneath. The long sleeved shirt was made of cotton that smelled like the inside of Steve’s dresser, and the sleeves were long enough that he could pull them over his hands if he needed to. The sweatpants were mercifully soft and baggy. The outfit looked a little dumb paired with the clunky combat boots he was wearing, but he didn’t care about that.

When Steve was done packing he came over to Bucky and pushed back the hair that was hanging in his face. It was quite a bit longer than it was a year ago, nearly reaching past his shoulders. Steve secured the beanie on Bucky’s head like he had seen people wear it on TV.

Steve wanted to take his bike to Union Station and leave it there in long-term parking, but there was no way he could get there with both an injured passenger and two bags. So he hailed a cab in the rain.

Union Station was located near the National Mall and was perennially busy. Bucky was able to walk, but was unsteady on his feet. He didn’t protest when Steve reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing tight. He scanned the huge room nervously to see if anyone was staring. Some glanced at them in passing, but most were busy struggling with their luggage or talking on their phones or hugging loved ones before they left for a trip.

The Amtrak tickets were outrageously expensive. However, they were cheaper than airfare. Money was of no object at this point. Steve had both a decent credit line and a considerable amount of money saved otherwise. The only problem was that there was over an hour before the train left for Chicago.

Steve felt a sense of urgency that was nearly driving him crazy. Not to mention that he was scared, hungry, and had a grievously injured amnesiac super soldier to keep track of. So he felt annoyed by the little boy that was staring at them as they sat down to wait for the train. Kids. It was always kids that recognized him. The younger they were, the worse it was.

Honestly, Steve loved kids. And most of them just gawked at him in silent wonder as he passed by with a small, knowing smile. But the last thing he needed right now was a seven-year-old boy cheerfully pointing out Captain America to his distracted mother.

Steve tried to look away as the little boy grabbed the arm of a nearby girl, maybe his older sister, and pointed at them. The kids were close enough that Steve could hear their voices over all the noise around them.

“It has to be him,” the little boy was saying.

“Don’t be stupid,” the girl said. “Captain America doesn’t wear glasses.”

“It’s a disguise, you dummy,” the boy said.

Steve couldn’t stop his mouth from splitting into a grin despite Bucky quivering next to him. An idea was forming as the two kids trotted over to him. The boy was hanging behind his sister, suddenly shy. They seemed oblivious to Bucky, who had his hand carefully hidden under his folded arms.

“My brother thinks you’re Captain America,” the girl said with an air of haughtiness in her voice. “But I don’t think you are.”

Steve glanced over at the woman they had left behind. She was dressed in a business suit. Her back was turned and she was talking on a phone. He gestured for the two kids to come in a little closer.

“I am Captain America,” he said, looking at the little boy. “And I have an important mission for you. But you have to keep it a secret.”

The little boy’s eyes were huge and his mouth was hanging open. Steve took two fives out of his wallet.

“If I give you this money, will you go over to the vending machines and get me…” His voice trailed as he craned his neck to see what was in the nearest machine. “A few packages of Pop-Tarts and two bottles of water?”

The boy nodded and ran off with the money. The little girl stared at him for a few moments before going back over to her mother. Her mother reached down and absently touched the top of her daughter’s head, effectively distracted.

Steve watched as the boy stood on his tiptoes to feed the bill into the first machine, punched the numbers in, and waited for the snacks to fall down. He felt kind of bad for using his superhero status to get help, but he figured the kid was getting the thrill of his life.

The little boy returned with both arms full of vending machine spoils. He also tried to return the several dollars worth of change, but Steve told him to keep it. After taking the Pop-Tarts and water, Steve sat up with his back straight.

“Thank you for your assistance, soldier,” he said and gave a salute. “You are dismissed.”

The little boy merely saluted back before running to his mother, too starstruck to even speak. That was the only thing unusual about the encounter. Usually kids who spoke to him asked if he knew Iron Man or something.

Steve handed a bottle of water and a package of Pop-Tarts to Bucky. “You should eat,” he said.

“I’m not really hungry,” Bucky said.

Steve was already tearing into his own package. It wasn’t his favorite thing to eat and it wasn’t going to be enough, but just taking the edge off his hunger would be a success.

“When was the last time you ate, though?” Steve asked.

“I don’t even remember fighting in World War II. Do you really expect me to bother remembering something stupid like that?” Bucky snapped.

He kept his voice low but it was full of an anger that Steve had never heard from Bucky before. Steve was taken aback but kept it hidden.

“You know that you fought in World War II?” he asked. “I read your file. I thought that they—”

“Of course they did,” Bucky said, sounding more subdued. “But I went to that exhibit at the Smithsonian. I read all about you and me. I just don’t remember any of it happening.”

“You did?”

Bucky simply nodded, his jaw clenched as he opened his bottle of water. That traveling exhibit had left for another museum nearly eight months ago. He had slipped into that dimmed wing of the air conditioned museum several times over the past summer. Reading, watching, and memorizing.

But not remembering.

After taking a drink of water, Bucky spoke again. “I remember little things sometimes. Like a few flickers,” he said. “But not very often and most of it doesn't make sense to me.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s knee. “I promise it will be okay. I don’t expect you to be the same person that you were before. I’m not the same person I was, either.”

Bucky’s eyes were distant. His face was creased with worry. “Was I as good of a person as they all say?”

“You were and you still are.”

Bucky turned to look at him. “You don’t remember me trying to kill you?”

“Well, we banged each other up pretty bad,” Steve said. He reached up and touched the faintly scarred corner of his mouth. “But I also remember you not finishing the job when you had every opportunity to. And that has to count for something.”

Bucky didn’t say anything in reply. Steve could tell he was both physically and mentally distressed, and decided to not continue the discussion. Bucky didn’t touch the Pop-Tarts, but continued to nurse his bottle of water. Steve demolished two packages and didn’t think Bucky would mind if he went for the third one.

The train finally arrived in the station and Steve was relieved when no one searched their bags. There was only a police officer with a sniffer dog weaving between passengers waiting to board. Steve was focused on the German Shepherd with its little “Please Don’t Pet Me, I’m Working” vest when he felt cold metal brushing against his hand. Bucky’s fingers were searching along the heartlines of Steve’s palm. Steve opened his hand further and laced their fingers together. He could feel eyes on his back but didn’t care.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked under his breath.

Bucky swallowed hard. He was pale and Steve thought he looked nauseated. “No,” he rasped.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand. He worried that Bucky, who was swaying ever so slightly, was about to faint.

“Just take deep breaths for me,” Steve murmured as he watched the line inch forward. The two bags he was shouldering felt heavy all of a sudden. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow.”

Bucky made a small, pained noise in the back of his throat in reply. He was gripping Steve’s hand so hard it hurt. “I just have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

Steve was a little apprehensive too. The last time they were on a train together didn’t go so well. However, once they were inside the passenger car and actually sitting down, Steve felt better. Each row had two seats. Steve made Bucky sit next to the window, so he was both sheltered and barricaded in at the same time.

They were only a few rows away from the entrance to the dining car or a speedy tuck-and-roll exit, depending on whether they wanted to go eat or HYDRA happened to saw the roof open like a tin can.

Steve was comforted when he saw that most people on the train didn’t look like they would be able to assassinate two genetically enhanced super soldiers.

Bucky jumped when the train started to move forward. Steve was just amazed that it was leaving on time. Bucky was breathing like Steve had told him to, but Steve could see his pulse literally jumping in his neck.

“Did that shot not work?” Steve asked. He had thrown two more of them into the duffel bag, along with a bottle of ibuprofen. “You gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Bucky seemed to be having trouble talking again. He looked out the window at the passing cityscape for a moment before turning back to Steve. The left corner of his mouth twitched and he flattened his lips into a thin, hard line.

“It still hurts pretty bad,” he finally managed.

Steve pulled the duffel bag out from under his seat and got out the bottle of ibuprofen. He was unsure if the extra medicine would make Bucky sick, but ibuprofen could be taken with most narcotic pain medications. Bucky would just puke it up if it didn’t agree with what was in the shot.

“These might help,” Steve said, pressing the four orange tablets into Bucky’s palm. He worried that maybe Bucky was more injured than he was letting on. “Are you hurting anywhere else?”

Bucky took the pills with a sip of water and then took a few more drinks from the bottle. “Everywhere,” he said. “I didn’t exactly win that fight.”

They were speaking in hushed tones, close to each other’s ears, but the two elderly ladies across the aisle were watching them over the rims of their glasses. Steve stole a glance at them and then looked back at Bucky.

Steve reached into the bag again and pulled out one of his sketchbooks and a pencil.

“Put your head here and try to rest,” he said, tapping his own shoulder.

Bucky just stared dumbly. Steve knew he was fearful of the women that were still staring at them. He supposed that every stranger was a threat in Bucky’s mind. Finally Bucky shifted in his seat, turning his body to the side a little. He crossed his arms carefully, as he was painfully aware of the noises his metal arm made when it moved and flexed.

Bucky felt stiff against him at first, but eventually relaxed and nuzzled his face against Steve’s hoodie. He watched as Steve opened up his sketchbook to an unfinished portrait of a woman he recognized but couldn’t name.

“You still draw?” Bucky asked.

“Yep,” Steve said. “How did you know I…?”

“The museum exhibit has a bunch of your sketchbooks,” Bucky said. “You’re really talented.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve hoped Bucky couldn’t see his ears turning red. “You tend to develop some different skills when you’re sick in bed all the time.”

“I read about that,” Bucky said, sounding tired.

“You were there with me most of the time. Even when you could have been outside playing or hanging out with girls,” Steve said. He touched the pencil to the paper, but did not draw. “We listened to baseball games on the radio and stuff.”

“I wish I could remember,” Bucky said. “Who is that?”

“Just one of my friends. Her name is Natasha.”

“I remember her face from somewhere.”

Steve paused a moment. He flipped the pencil over and tapped the eraser on the paper a few times. “She helped me fight you,” he said. “She’s one of the Avengers.”

Bucky took in a sharp breath. “Oh, did I…?”

“You shot her in the shoulder, but she’s okay,” Steve said, deciding to not mention the whole part about her nearly bleeding to death. “You ran into her once before that and shot her then too. Unfortunately.”

“Figures,” Bucky said bitterly.

“Well, we’re going to go stay with her in Chicago, so she’s obviously not mad at you,” Steve said.

Bucky said nothing. He watched Steve draw for a few minutes before closing his eyes. Steve knew Bucky fell asleep about twenty minutes later by the way his head got heavy. Rather than keeping his neck tense, his head moved with the shifting train car.

Steve hoped Bucky would feel better when he woke up. He hoped the ibuprofen was working. When he thought about it, there were a lot things he was hoping for. The train ride from Washington to Chicago was about 18 hours long. He passed the time by drawing, and texted with Natasha and Sam when there was service.

Bucky stayed asleep, even when Steve covered him with his extra jacket and slipped onto the dining car for a proper meal. He was slumped across their seats, dead asleep and drooling on the upholstery a little, when Steve returned. It was dark outside and the lights were dim in the passenger car.

The attendant came over when Steve was seated again and had Bucky gathered up in his lap.

“Is he okay?” she asked quietly, nodding toward Bucky’s motionless form.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, feigning nonchalance. “We went to a wedding in D.C. and he just partied a little too hard. Sleeping it off. He’s fine.”

The attendant didn’t seem convinced, but nodded and left. Steve reached down and felt Bucky’s neck, checking his pulse against the tick of his watch. It was a little quick, but strong and steady. His breathing was even and unlabored. He really was just sleeping.

Bucky murmured softly when Steve put a hand on his back. He was tired too now that his stomach was full for the first time since dinner the previous day. All the other excitement had worn him out as well.

Steve rubbed Bucky’s back in small, comforting circles that also worked to soothe himself. Bucky sighed but did not wake up. Steve wondered how long it had been since Bucky allowed himself to sleep soundly.

He dozed, lodged between sleep and wakefulness. He could hear the muffled clattering of the train on the tracks and could feel Bucky’s head in his lap. But those sensations were intermixed with strange dreams that he couldn’t remember when he was startled awake.

Bucky had jolted awake and was breathing raggedly. Steve tried to touch him but he jerked away, slamming his back into the window with a crash. One of the old ladies across the aisle stirred and Steve worried that the attendant would be over to tell them to shut the hell up.

He looked at his phone. It was almost four in the morning and still dark out.

“Bucky, Bucky, hey,” Steve said in as low of a whisper as he could manage.

The last thing they needed was to get kicked off the train 100 miles away from their destination.

Bucky held his hands out to keep Steve away from him, but didn’t struggle when Steve touched his shoulders. His body was rigid as Steve pulled him into a hug. Steve could feel Bucky’s heart thudding against his own chest. His shirt was damp with sweat.

Bucky finally put his arms around Steve’s back and buried his head in his shoulder.

“I was having this dream,” Bucky said, his voice raw. “I have it all the time. I was falling and you were looking down at me, watching.”

Steve tightened his hold on Bucky. He was surprised at the way his nose started to sting and his vision blurred. All because he knew exactly what Bucky was talking about. He dreamed about it himself.

“I let you go once,” Steve said. “And I’m sorry.”

Bucky pulled away, shaking his head. “I had this dream when I didn’t know who you were. And I didn’t even blame you then.”

He eased himself back down into his seat. Steve noticed the grimace on Bucky’s face when he sat down. It had been long enough since the last shot, so Steve took another one out of the bag. Bucky insisted on administering it himself.

Steve didn’t hand over the autoinjector right away. “Are you sure? Why don’t you just let me—”

“I watched you do it,” Bucky said, holding out his hand. “It’ll hurt less if I do it.”

Bucky pulled the green cap off the autoinjector and straightened out his leg. He unceremoniously jabbed himself in the thigh with the needle, hissing in pain. His lack of hesitation made Steve’s stomach do a somersault. It bothered him that Bucky was reluctant to receive affection, but utterly resigned to hurting himself.

Bucky leaned back in his seat, hands limp in his lap. Steve guessed the shot was already working. There were still a few hours left before they were due to arrive in Chicago and Steve felt like he could sleep some more.

Bucky put his head in Steve’s lap without even asking. It wasn’t like Steve was going to say no. Bucky struggled to get comfortable in the same position he had slept in before, but was only shifting around halfheartedly. Steve closed his eyes and put a hand on Bucky’s back again.

He rubbed the same circles as he did before, slowly, just like his mom did when she was trying to soothe him to sleep after an asthma attack. She wouldn’t stop until he was asleep, even if it took hours to calm him down. He was determined to do the same for Bucky, although he was already snoring softly.

 

Steve was starving and Bucky was still high as balls when they finally got off the train. Natasha was waiting for them near the platform, dressed in her own hipster disguise. The corner of her mouth curled into a smirk when she saw Bucky and Steve dressed the same way. Steve figured that he and Bucky looked like quite a pair.

Natasha sauntered over to them. “Hey, you two,” she said.

“Nat, this is Bucky,” Steve said, setting his bags down.

She offered her hand and Bucky shook it gently. The pain meds had loosened up his mouth a little.

“I’m sorry I shot you,” he said. “Twice.”

“You’re the first would-be assassin to apologize to me. I think we’re gonna be just fine,” Natasha said with another little smile. “I’m just glad you’re finally with us.”

And then Bucky actually smiled. It was masked by weariness and enough pain medication to make Seabiscuit goofy, but it was a smile if Steve ever saw one.

“Me too,” Bucky said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://www.iainkillsrobots.tumblr.com)
> 
> ♥ Comments are always appreciated. ♥


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